


FIGGING IN THE RIGGING

by Apathy



Category: Dissidia: Final Fantasy
Genre: Figging, Humour, M/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:19:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathy/pseuds/Apathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Emperor's dinner plans, like all of his plans, are most dastardly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FIGGING IN THE RIGGING

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltedpin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltedpin/gifts).



> Because it is entirely her fault.

Firion stared blankly into the distance, despair crushing his heart in its desolate embrace.  
  
His wild rose. Sephiroth had stolen his wild rose.  
  
The Warrior of Light had offered him some weeds in an awkward attempt to make amends, but it just wasn’t the same. The Warrior should have just left him there to die at Sephiroth’s firm, unyielding hands. Life wasn’t worth living anymore.  
  
He voiced the thought to the empty skies. ‘Life isn’t worth living anymore.’  
  
‘Oh, I don’t know if I would go so far as to say _that_.’  
  
Firion whirled around at the familiar voice, but before he could make a decision as to which of his myriad weapons he should grab, sharp pain rang through his skull and he knew no more.  
  
***  
  
There was something oddly unsettling about waking up propped on one’s hands and knees.  
  
Granted, he probably would have been unsettled in any case, but this was just particularly unsettling. No matter how hard he tried to relax his screaming joints, cords of dark magic bound him up in such a way as to prevent him from lying down. He was also, he belatedly noticed, naked.  
  
‘Oh. You’re finally awake.’  
  
Firion looked around wildly, blurry eyes settling on a vaguely pointy golden shape off to his right. He blinked furiously, and the vaguely pointy golden shape resolved itself into a pointy golden shape that he knew all too well.  
  
‘You!’  
  
‘I _do_ congratulate you on your observational prowess. Well _done_.’  
  
The Emperor strolled towards him, idly filing his nails. Firion struggled futilely against his bonds. ‘Let me go, you fiend!’  
  
‘Well, since you asked so _nicely_....’  
  
Firion gasped as a sudden weight bore down upon him. He looked over his shoulder to see the Emperor seating himself delicately upon Firion's back, examining his newly-buffed nails with a critical eye, before nodding slightly in approval. The nail file had disappeared; Firion decided to count that as a positive.  
  
‘Hmm... _no_.’  
  
Firion could feel his teeth grinding together in frustration and fear, even as his cheeks burned. He could taste the metallic tang at the back of his throat that warned of an impending nosebleed, and silently railed against whatever higher power had decided to curse him with such an inconvenient impediment.  
  
‘You said that without your wild rose, your life was no longer worth living.’ The Emperor leaned back languorously, and Firion felt a series of pops run down his spine. ‘I may not have your wild rose, but I have another form of plant life here that I believe you will find even more... _satisfying_.’  
  
The bizarreness of the situation was not lost on Firion; really, he was more confused than anything else. Confused, and sore. The sound of a blade scraping dully along something only added to his befuddlement, and again he looked over his shoulder, dreading what kind of horrors he would see. Was the Emperor fashioning some kind of weapon? Preparing to slaughter him here and now, without even the pretence of a fair fight? Cold sweat ran down his face.  
  
Firion managed to catch a glimpse of what the Emperor held, and his brow knitted in confusion.  
  
It was... some kind of vegetable? Maybe? Whatever it was, it was large and knobbly, and the Emperor was expertly removing the outside of it with his knife, revealing the pale yellow flesh within.  
  
‘Dissidia has been educational in at least a few regards,’ murmured the Emperor, admiring his handiwork. ‘Do you know what this is?’  
  
Firion had the distinct feeling of walking directly into a trap, but couldn’t help himself. ‘No.’  
  
‘Well. You shall find out soon enough.’  
  
The Emperor rose in a single smooth movement, and suddenly Firion found that he couldn’t twist back far enough to see him anymore. Panic lanced through him, before suddenly something _else_ did --  
  
It was all Firion could do not to cry out; the sudden burning sensation in his -- in his -- gods, he couldn’t even _think_ the word --  
  
‘Are you enjoying yourself, Firion? Does this give you... _pleasure_?’  
  
Firion wanted to scream -- _no, of course it doesn't, how could you even_ \-- except --  
  
Firion’s eyes screwed up tightly in shame, and the rest of his body followed suit; the subsequent fire in his ass pulled a pained yelp from his throat as he twitched and trembled.  
  
‘Now, now.’ The Emperor’s voice floated lazily around him, and Firion tried to concentrate on just breathing. ‘Don’t clench.’  
  
The Emperor leaned down over him, one hand holding the -- _thing_ \-- in place, while his mouth came to rest next to Firion’s ear. ‘Clenching only makes the burn... _hotter_.’  
  
Firion made some kind of incoherent _yargh_ noise, blinking furiously against the sweat that slid into his eyes. He needed to _relax_ , to use all of his training as a warrior to make his body obey him and do nothing, it was the simplest thing in the world --  
  
This time, Firion had to admit to himself, it was definitely a scream. He jerked helplessly, caught in an endless loop of just _having_ to have just a _bit_ more, and then the inevitable violent recoil. His ass twitched, straining up and back as far as it could manage, begging for more, and he felt the inevitable hot gush of blood as his nasal integrity gave way. If he could have, he would’ve lowered his forehead to the cool stone below him and then headbutted himself into unconsciousness.  
  
Why couldn’t he just have a nemesis who would do something ordinary, like try to kill him? Why did he end up stuck with this -- this -- _this_?  
  
‘ _Heavens._ ’  
  
He wasn’t even sure how it had come to this -- the Emperor had never been a good man, but something this outlandish was more what he would expect from the likes of Kefka. Maybe they had been spending too much time together.  
  
Firion became aware that he was making little abbreviated thrusting motions, not to mention some awfully embarrassing noises. He tried to stop, he really did, but it just felt so -- not good, never that -- just so -- so --  
  
The Emperor chuckled darkly. ‘We _do_ seem to be enjoying ourselves. I would have offered the bounty of my hospitality earlier, had I but known that you would appreciate it so.’ A slender finger on Firion’s jaw turned his head, and Firion looked helplessly into the Emperor’s cruel, smirking eyes. ‘I shall have to have you for dinner more often.’  
  
Firion cried out as he came, eyes locked with the Emperor’s, unwilling -- _unable_ , damn it -- to look away in his shame. His arms and legs shook as he came down, body quivering in anticipation of some kind of respite --  
  
The hard weight of the Emperor on sitting on his back again jolted him back to reality.  
  
‘Oh, come _on_!’ he yelled. Did the man have to use _every_ object he encountered as a makeshift throne?  
  
A second, more horrifying realisation followed quickly on the heels of the first: that the Emperor still had not removed that _thing_ from him. The burning was less pleasant now -- _not that it was ever pleasant_ \-- and more just, well, _burning_.  
  
Firion made a pathetic noise through his teeth, torn between two terrible options. On the one hand, he was a leader, a rebel, sworn to uphold all that was good and never give in to the forces of evil.  
  
On the other hand, his ass _really_ hurt.  
  
‘Not enjoying dessert, are we? And here I thought the main course was so much to your liking. I shall have to find something more to your tastes next time.’  
  
‘There won’t _be_ a next time,’ he managed to grit out. Good. That was a bit more like it. Definitely didn’t sound like the pain was starting to become pleasurable again, _oh, damn it all_ \--  
  
A little gasp. ‘Firion, you wound me. Truly, I am hurt.’  
  
Firion managed to refrain from snapping back that no, truly, _he_ was the one who was hurting here, and concentrated all his energy into trying not to let a renegade moan escape.  
  
In the first sign of good fortune Firion had encountered all day -- _is it really such good fortune?_ , a treacherous voice whispered to him -- the knob of whatever-it-was seemed to lose its potency before Firion could further embarrass himself by getting hard again. He sagged a little, exhaustion leaving him weak and shaking.  
  
‘Hmph.’ The Emperor stood with a sniff and removed the _thing_ from Firion, bringing both relief and a little disappointment. With a dismissive wave of his staff, he dissolved the dark chains that held Firion captive. Startled, Firion faceplanted the ground. It was the sweetest thing he had ever felt.  
  
He moved his arms and legs about with a distinct lack of grace, trying to ward off the pain of newly-freed muscles before it could kick in. He rolled his head to the side a little, managing to catch sight of the Emperor as he swished towards the door.  
  
‘You’re... just letting me go?’  
  
The Emperor let out a satisfied laugh. ‘I believe I’ve made my point.’  
  
Firion blinked. ‘... Okay?’  
  
And then he was gone.  
  
Firion flopped about on the floor like a newly-landed fish, and wondered where to go from here. Were the Emperor and his associates really going to just let him walk out of here? Would his friends find him here before he could get himself decent? Where _were_ his clothes, anyway? How was he supposed to ask the moogles if they stocked certain vegetables if he didn’t know what they were called?  
  
Sighing, Firion lay there and waited for his limbs to start functioning again.  
  
  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
‘Try it. It’s good.’  
  
Garland eyed the large bowl of steaming hot vegetables the Emperor held out to him, and wrinkled his nose in distaste. He’d had countless years to learn how to express disdain through a featureless mask, and he put all that practice to good use now.  
  
The Emperor gestured a little more emphatically. ‘Go on.’  
  
Garland drew back a little. ‘If I’m going to poison myself for no good reason, I would rather it were at least a poison of my own choosing.’  
  
The Emperor’s face contorted into a parody of shock. ‘ _Me_? Poison _you_? Garland, you wound me. I am simply trying to extend some courtesy to my fellow warrior, and look how I am repaid.’  
  
Garland could hear the barely-restrained amusement lurking at the edge of his voice, and rolled his eyes. Really, did the Emperor think he was _that_ stupid? Even that idiot Warrior of Light would be suspecting the Emperor’s motives at this point, and Garland had once convinced _him_ that daily anal sex was essential for proper digestive function.  
  
Still, he could not deny his curiosity, and so he leaned forward to sniff the meal cautiously.  
  
‘ _Eaygh!_ ’  
  
Garland leapt back. His eyes watered. He coughed and hacked. ‘Did you put an entire _knob_ of ginger into that -- that vegetable atrocity? For the love of battle, _why_?’  
  
The Emperor withdrew the bowl, obviously realising that getting Garland to eat it was a lost cause. His eyes sparkled with victory nonetheless, and Garland realised that while he hadn’t given the Emperor precisely what he wanted, the Emperor felt he had still managed to succeed in whatever peculiar little ploy he had set in motion.  
  
Garland didn’t even want to know.  
  
‘It’s interesting.’ The Emperor was facing away from him now, staring out at some unknowable thing on the horizon, holding the bowl to his armoured chest. ‘Ginger can provide some... _remarkable_ ways of subduing your enemies.’  
  
He knew, he _knew_ that he shouldn’t bite. Nothing good could come of this. Nothing ever did, as far as the Emperor was concerned.  
  
And yet....  
  
‘Is that so?’


End file.
